


Thunderbird and Bad Company

by HelloAfternoon



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloAfternoon/pseuds/HelloAfternoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe Dameron is a deadbeat by definition. Maybe he used to be somebody, but he's 32 now and the world doesn't wait for you to get better before it keeps turning.</p>
<p>"Like the stars," Rey says. "87 of them in Ursa Major, but you only ever see seven. That's Finn. That's 87."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 87.

**Author's Note:**

> hey yeah i know the ratings explicit but theres not gonna be anything for a long time so its fine.

Poe is walking back from the gas station at night. It’s a short walk back to his apartment, bottle of cheap wine in a plastic bag in his left hand and a cigarette in his right, balancing between his fingers as he exhales a puff or grey smoke into the chilled night air. The sky is a swatch of light-polluted burgundy and clouds roll slowly over the face of the unblinking, bone white moon. His old sandals scrape against the pavement, and he wonders what’s on TV tonight.

One his way back, he strips the plastic bag off the bottle of wine and tosses it into a trash-can at a bus stop. Highest percentage, lowest cost. He sucks down the smoke and reduces his cigarette to little more than a column of warm grey ash as he approaches his apartment. It’s a series of ground level rooms on the back of an ugly body of water. Used to be a retirement home, he thinks, if the rails on the hallway walls mean anything. Or maybe it was some kind of rehabilitation center. He doesn’t know, hasn’t bothered to look it up in the five years he’s lived here, too busy watching those bizarre, long-necked birds that bob around outside his window sometimes, or catching up on reality TV.

He walks up a railed walkway to his room. He flicks the but of his cigarette over the edge of the railing and into the parking lot, fishing around in the pockets of his worn jeans for his keys. There are only two keys on his key-ring; one to his car, one to his apartment door. 

“Shit,” he hisses, patting himself down, shuffling about on his own porch. Well, at least if he’s stuck out here, he can be stuck out here and drunk.

“Excuse me?” someone says. It’s a cautious voice, but a deep one. Poe turns.

There’s a young man standing on the walkway, the moonlight that comes through the trees dappling his skin silver. He’s well dressed even though it's after dark. _Too well dressed for this neighborhood, for sure_ , Poe thinks, eyeing him up and down. He has that upper-crust feel to him, from the way he stands to the way all his clothes seem recently ironed. The crease down the front of his dark slacks is sharp and clean.

Poe opens his mouth, but he hasn’t talked to anyone in such a damn long time that nothing but a raspy croak of noise comes out and he has to clear his throat.

“I’m just, uh…” he says, pointing to the door with his wine hand while the other searches for his keys and, oh, fuck.

His fingers slide through a hole in his back pocket.

“Sir, are you lost…?” the young man asks, and Poe looks up at him, panicked, finger stuck through a hole in his pants where his keys must have tumbled down the back of his leg somewhere along the sidewalk. Or maybe the gas station, or the parking lot, or the bus stop, or the short cut he took through some stranger's yard to get here faster. Fuck.

He stares at the young man. He’s about Poe's height, his stature smallish with stout, sprightly shoulders, feet set wide apart, and a tense facial expression.

What a cruel twist of fate. This young man thinks Poe is breaking into his own apartment.

“No, kid,” he grumbles, “I live here.”

“I’ve never, uh,” the man says, “seen you around.”

_Of course you haven’t,_ Poe thinks. _I only leave for drinks and cigarettes._ But that’s sort of pathetic for a man his age, right? He’s thirty two, he should have kids, a house. A job.

In stead he has a bottle of Thunderbird wine and a mouthful of smoke and a voice unused to speaking. He screws his eyes shut and fights off an oncoming headache. He hates dealing with crap like this.

“Hello?” the kid says again. “You having trouble getting in?”

Poe wishes he’d go away, this is embarrassing enough without an audience. He sighs. “Yeah, I...I think I dropped my keys somewhere.”

“Um, you can use my phone to call the landlord, if you want,” the young man offers, quite generously in Poe’s opinion.

“I can’t, I…” Poe sighs again, wondering why this sort of shit has to happen to him every time he leaves his place. This is why he doesn't leave his place. “It’s late at night, she’ll charge a fee, and I don’t have a penny on me.” Because his last ten went to wine and a pack of gum, and that's embarrassing enough.

The young man, still seeming on the fence about whether Poe is a criminal or an unfortunate looking middle aged man trying to get into his apartment, steps out of the darkened walkway and into the light just above Poe’s apartment door. And he’s _beautiful._

Poe sucks in a breath, eyes going wide, wondering why he didn’t know to be nervous around this guy, because _fuck,_ he should have been nervous around this guy. He REALLY should have been, he thinks, looking at the guy’s glossy dress shoes and pretty, cropped hair. He has pretty features and thick upper arms, and when he looks at Poe it's with eyes so dark brown they seem almost black.

He definitely doesn’t belong around here. Everything he’s wearing looks expensive and styled. Not professionally, but like a mannequin at a mall, with a crisp leather belt and dress socks and a navy blue sweater that makes him look either like a businessman or like an escaped catholic schoolboy.

Poe takes a step back without thinking.

The young man hands him his phone.

Flip-phone? Poe eyes it suspiciously. _This doesn’t quite add up,_ he thinks, and doesn’t stop himself from raking his eyes over this guy, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. No harm no foul if it’s just an investigation, but it’s been...god, years since Poe has even LOOKED at anybody. He feels unpracticed and shy. He thinks he should flirt, thinks that's a thing he used to do when he met cute men, but doesn’t know how any more.

“Thanks, pal,” Poe says and flashes what he hopes is a winning smile-he’s been told he’s winsome, or used to be, when he was younger-and the kid just winks a nervous smile back at him. “But like I said, I can’t pay her fee and this place is gonna need re-keyed.”

The kid eyes his cellphone in Poe’s hands but doesn’t make any move to take it back.

“Well,” he says, looking around the deck for answers. “Why don’t you come crash with us? Until morning, when she won’t charge you.”

_That doesn’t add up either,_ Poe thinks. _If you’re going to go out of your way for me, you might as well just front me the fee and be on your way. You obviously have the money, or…_

He eyes the flip-phone in his hand.

_...maybe you don't._

“You don’t have to do that,” Poe says, not appropriately shocked by the offer. “I've got friends in the area, I can swing by Jessika’s place if I have to,” and he really, _really_ doesn't want to. He likes sleeping in his bed in his apartment. He doesn't like unexpected changes and he can already feel the subtle tightening of his nerves.

“No, no, um,” the kid says as Poe hands him back his phone. “It’s no problem if you live here. I should probably know you anyway, I know all our other neighbors,” the man says.

Poe arches an eyebrow.

In his experience, the people of this apartment building don’t like to know each other. They avoid one another like the plague, and the only real upside to that is that it’s quiet. Nobody bothers anybody around here, and Poe likes that.

“I live with Rey,” the man fills in when Poe doesn't say anything, pointing behind him, “just down the hall. We don’t have much room, but there’s a couch if you need a place to crash.”

“You don’t think I’d rob the place?" Poe scoffs.

“Rey’s tough,” the young man replies with an animated shrug. “If you tried, she’d slit your throat.”

Poe swallows.

“I’m Poe Dameron,” he says, holding out his hand.

The young man looks at it for a moment, and then smiles more genuinely, his expression startlingly sunny and absorbing. “It's nice to meet you, Poe Dameron,” he greets. He does not offer his name, but he takes Poe’s hand and shakes it firmly like old men do, which surprises Poe a little bit.

“What’s your name, then?" Poe presses. “You got a place to live, a social like everyone else. You gotta have a name.”

The young man’s mouth drops open, and then closes. He pockets his flip-phone and looks out over the railing. “Rey calls me Eighty-seven.”

_Rey doesn’t ask questions,_ Poe thinks. He knows Rey. Well, he knows OF Rey. Sometimes he sees her through the slats in his yellowing blinds, standing out int he parking lot or getting into an unmarked van with some old man he assumes is either her father or her otherwise parental-esque guardian. She’s young, real young, too damn young to be sharing an apartment with a guy she just calls 87. Maybe he's her boyfriend, or a childhood buddy splitting the cost of rent with her.

“Eighty-seven?” Poe says. “Like, a serial number?”

“Locker number,” 87 says, smiling, “Part of it, anyway. Do you want to crash on our couch or what? It’s late, and I have work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I,” Poe starts, then swallows. "Thanks. For letting me stay over, I mean.”

“No problem,” the young man says. He's being strangely nice to Poe. They live in Florida, and not the posh retiree side of Florida, either. You don't just invite strangers into your home unless you want trouble.

“But I’m not calling you eighty-seven,” Poe says, following 87 down the hallway to his apartment. 87 looks over his shoulder.

Something catches Poe’s eye. A little white square standing out against 87's dark skin, right at the nape of his neck where his hairline fades. Shirt tag.

It’s sticking up out of the hem of 87’s shirt. Poe grabs it without thinking, and 87 makes a little noise of surprise.

Unisex, L. Machine Wash. First Order.

IS it a school uniform?

Poe purses his lips and lets go. “Sorry, your tag was out,” he says, tucking it into the neck of 87’s shirt. First Order. That sounds familiar.

“Oh, uh,” 87 stammers, “thanks.”

First Order. Fi-

“How about Finn?” Poe asks as 87 reaches the door to his apartment, reaching into the pocket of his black slacks for his keys. He looks up at Poe with large, pretty dark eyes and Poe gets nervous again because he KNOWS he’s being weird but can’t stop it, hasn’t been around people who aren't Jessika Pava in a long time. Plus, this guy is cute. It’s making Poe’s hands go all jittery in a nostalgic, vaguely pleasant way. He’s too old for this shit, he thinks, as 87 blinks up at him and my, what pretty eyelashes he has.

All the better to give you a heart attack with, Poe Dameron.

“Finn,” the young man murmurs, seeming to genuinely mull it over as his keys enter the door with a low click. “Hm. Yeah, that’s good,” he says, smiling at Poe. His smile is broad and bright and full of pretty white teeth that make Poe self conscious. He nervously bobs the bottle of wine in his hand. Is this the start of a hookup, he wonders. Or is it the start of nothing at all? 87 doesn’t seem into him at all, but they’re headed to his apartment late at night with a bottle of wine, and...damn, Poe hasn’t hooked up with anyone in years. His dry streak is legendary. He stopped even missing it, or...maybe he’s just too old.

“So, Finn, then?”

“Yeah,” Finn says, pushing the door open. “Finn is good.”


	2. battery life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finn and poe hang out. it goes okay

Finn’s apartment is less Finn’s apartment and more Rey’s apartment. Poe discovers this as soon as he steps foot into it.

He doesn’t know Finn very well, but he knows enough to realize that the mess everywhere isn’t his. The coffee table between the modest couch and the busted up TV is covered in junk. Not candy wrappers or dirty dishes, but thick books and bolts and a half empty bottle of motor oil. The room is small and the ceiling is dipped and cracked like it is in every room in the damn building, but it’s also fairly clean in spite of being quite cluttered. No dust. Poe notices because his apartment is extremely dusty, and he suddenly wonders if he should feel ashamed for being more messy than what are likely a pair of college students sharing a two bedroom apartment.

“Welcome,” Finn says, a little awkwardly.

“Nice place,” Poe says, because he thinks that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to say when you’re in someone’s place of residence, even though any apartment in this building is probably as far from a nice place as a person can get without stepping into some level of hell.

"Thanks,” Finn replies easily. “You want coffee? I’m gonna head to bed here soon, but Rey will be back in a couple of hours. She probably won’t be too happy to find you here. I should text her.”

“Nah,” Poe says, waggling his bottle of wine at Finn, “I got drinks, pal.”

“Not in my apartment, you don’t,” Finn says seriously.

“You wanna have a glass before bed? Alcohol's a sedative, you'll sleep like a fuckin' baby,” Poe prompts.

Finn eyes him. “I don’t drink,” he replies uneasily.

“It’s one glass of wine, not a bender. Get a glass, I’ll pour you some. Maybe convince you I’m not gonna steal your TV,” he says, grinning and hoping he's coming off as charming rather than desperate and lonely.

Finn snorts. Apparently, that’s all it takes to break his will. "Okay, fine. Clear off a spot on the couch. Don't let me have another glass, though.”

Poe does, pushing a couple books to the side and sitting down. Finn’s apartment smells like cleaning solution and leather, and Poe doesn’t entirely mind it. It’s different form his apartment, which bears the scent of menthol and smoke, occasionally cheap takeout. There are no pictures on the wall, but there is one on the coffee table. It’s not in a frame, just lying there on the glossy wooden surface, curled up slightly at the edges. It features Rey and that old man, but in the photo, she’s much younger. She’s holding up a bluegill in front of a third person who Poe doesn’t recognize. He looks about as old as Finn is now, with black hair and a smile.

Poe squints and resist the urge to pick the photo up to get a better look. It’s not his life, he shouldn’t be nosy. He twists a lock of his curly, dark hair right at his forehead around his finger and jiggles his knee. He hasn't been in someone else's apartment in a long time.

Finn trundles back into the room with a glass in each hand. “I texted Rey,” he announces, “she won’t behead you in your sleep. She’s stuck at work until really late, though, so I hope it doesn’t startle you when she gets back.”

“Not a problem. I’m a guest here, I’ll deal with it,” Poe replies. Finn sets down two glasses on the limited space of the coffee table with twin clicking sounds before plopping down next to Poe.

“You always dress fancy like that?” Poe asks.

“Yeah,” Finn answers, a little shortly. “Force of habit,” he says, and his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Ah,” Poe replies, as if he understands. Poe takes a pocket knife out of his pocket and stabs the blade into the cork, wedging it free from the bottle. While Finn pours the wine, Poe takes a moment to watch him out of the corner of his eye.

Cute as a button, a bit baby-faced. He looks focused, eyes trained on a simple task.

“That’s good,” Poe says, cutting Finn off from pouring him any more wine than he’d like. “This stuff tastes like shit.”

“Why’d you buy it, then?” Finn asks, frowning slightly and arching a single, well groomed eyebrow.

Poe laughs. “I didn’t buy it for the _taste_. Cheers, buddy,” he says, and their glasses clink.

And that’s how he meets Finn. Poe doesn't have much better to do than wait for the next time they’ll see each other.

And Finn, for being young and pretty, doesn’t seem to have much better to do, either. It’s almost strange; outside of Rey, Poe never sees anyone else enter or leave their shared apartment. But every time he crosses paths with Finn, Finn is nice to him. He smiles broadly and waves at Poe, and Poe thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Finn deserves better friends than a guy like him, so he just waves back and keeps moving.

He doesn’t have a job. Can’t get one. Nothing is really physically stopping him, but he was young when he joined the military. He had no work experience then and he has none now. He gets 2,000 dollars a month to live off of, and it’s enough. Once he tried to get a job, working as a janitor at a nearby university, and had had a panic attack in a store room closet because an auditorium full of twenty somethings wouldn’t stop sounding just like the propellers on a helicopter.

Poe wonders how it can be so easy to spend five years like this. When he first moved in, way back then, he’d still been having flashbacks and panic attacks sometimes. Once he had somebody over, some young fuck he wanted to spend the night with, and came to trying to choke him in his own bed, thinking he was trying to kill Poe in his sleep. Sent him running out of the apartment in his underwear. Poe promised he’d put himself in a better place, but it’s hard to move at all when your brain wont do what you want it to do. So he spent five years here, five short and unremarkable years. He’s getting better, slowly; the medication helps, the therapy helped more. He’d found Organa, and she’d helped him through it all.

But you can’t spend five years alone and not grow into yourself a little, and such was the case for Poe Dameron. He was a tree planted too close to a fence, barbed wire not stuck in his rings forever, a part of him. He was ingrown.

And then there was Finn.

“You know,” Finn says, swallowing a bite of his hot dog. “I really don’t get stuff like this, but Rey loves it.”

They’re sitting outside along a street crowded with elderly people. Those elderly people sport fanny packs and young children at their sides, walking between rows of old, fancy cars with flashy paint jobs. There’s a car show today, and Poe had met Finn there by accident. He’d just been out to get Drain-O at the local shops here, but he’d passed Finn on accident and Finn had drawn him into his orbit with ease, even though the crowds made Poe antsy. Poe had wondered why Finn continued to pursue a friendship with him, why he'd walked over to ask Poe if he wanted to get a bite to eat. Finn didn't have any business latching on to a guy like Poe just because he might have hit a bad financial spot or was lonely or whatever Finn's deal was. Furthermore, Poe didn't have any business latching onto a guy like Finn just because he was _nice_ to him. Especially a much younger guy with a whole future ahead of him.

“She a mechanic?” Poe asks after a long moment of thought. Finn never shuts up about her, but they don’t share a bed and Poe doesn’t think they’re dating. Maybe that's what his deal is. Maybe he's pining and needs to let off steam.

“Something along those lines,” Finn replies with a snort. “She works for Plutt at the junkyard, but she loves cars. Computers, too. She’s building one in her room right now.”

“Smart cookie,” Poe concedes with a nod.

“She and Solo both. He’s scary, though.”

"Wait,” Poe pauses. “Solo? Han Solo?”

Finn looks at him, wiping ketchup from his lower lip and sucking it from his thumb. The warm sunlight makes his skin glow, a pleasant and comforting dark brown. “Yeah. He’s Rey’s dad.”

Poe leans back on the bench they're seated on between two finely groomed, tiny trees. “Small world,” he mutters to himself.

The crowd is making him uncomfortable, but the open air helps. He taps his knuckling against the back of the bench distractedly, biting his lip. Finn’s eyes bounce over him, his even, intelligent gaze searching Poe’s face.

“Hey, Poe Dameron,” Finn says with a grin. “Rey’s gonna be here all day before Solo picks her up. Do you feel like going to the beach?”

Poe blinks.

“The beach?”

“Yeah, it’s not a long walk. It’s hot out, but,” Finn shrugs, “the water is probably nice.”

Poe has forgotten about the Drain-O. He’s burning up under his jacket, but he likes the weight on his shoulders, and Finn doesn’t make him feel weird about it.

Poe snorts. "You don't gotta go outta your way for some old man like me, but sure. Let’s go,” Poe replies, smiling broadly without meaning to.

Florida is polarized; the rich retirees, and the people who have always lived there. He can see it in the way the buildings seem to rise, decorative palm trees lining the streets, only to fall in the wake of strip after strip of nail salons and empty lots full of dry brown grass. Along the way he chatters to Finn and watches the birds. No pets in the apartment, but he can watch the weird, fucked up birds. They look sort of like seagulls, but not really. They have colorful beaks and they aren’t afraid of people. They walk around in the street and cars honk at them.

Eventually they end up on the beach, though by that time Poe is extremely sweaty and he can even see the shine of sweat around the neck of Finn’s shirt, on his collarbone and the nape of his neck. It's shiny and for a moment Poe wonders what it tastes like, before he chides himself for being a dirty pervert creeping on a guy too many years his junior and averts his gaze.

He extracts a pack of Marlboros from the chest pocket on his jacket, flipping the cardboard open with his thumb and taking a cigarette from the pack with his lips. It draws out with a papery little sound and he balances it between his lips, tucking the box back into his pocket and removing his lighter from the back pocket in his jeans, next to his wallet. The pockets are deep and sallow, and the left one has still has that hole in the bottom that he keeps forgetting so his laundry money goes running down the back of his leg.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Finn accuses.

Poe snorts. “It’s gross, I know,” he concedes sympathetically. “Bad habit. I don’t do it much any more.”

He quit once, but picked up again. Old dog, old tricks. Smoking, like his many other rituals, helps him deal with stress. Whenever he gets too wound up he just pops a cigarette between his lips and, like an infant at it’s mother’s tit, it shuts him up.

Flip, click. Little yellow teardrop shaped flame at the end of his cigarette. He breaths in, it catches fire. Flip, click.

Finn looks out onto the beach. The sun is high in the air, but not quite at mid-day. It’s after noon, four pm maybe. Poe would check if he had a watch or if he hadn't left his cellphone at home. He hates taking calls, even when no one ever calls him. The noise is annoying. He kicks his sandals off and hooks his fingers under the straps to carry them.

The sand is warm on the bottoms of his feet. So warm, in fact, that it burns just a little bit. Out on the beach, a wedding is taking place. White fabric billows over a large trellis adorned with what Poe can only assume are fake flowers, tiny and pink. There are chairs placed out on the sand, the wind whipping up skirting sheets of milk white sand to skitter between the legs of the patrons. The breeze rasps over the underbrush growing where the land meets the sand meets the sea. He watches the wedding.

“Would you look at that,” Poe murmurs.

“Oh, yeah,” Finn says. “Nice place to have a ceremony,” he sniffs. “Not much privacy, though. You’d think they’d do it in a church.”

Poe shrugs. “When in Rome.”

“Hey, Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever think of getting married?”

Poe puffs out a ribbon of billowing smoke. “Not any more.”

“Hmm,” Finn muses. “I used to think about it all the time when I was a kid. I had this old Halloween costume-it was my sister’s before she went away to college-of the bride of Frankenstein,” Finn says, smiling very slightly, “and I used to put it on our dog and pretend to marry the dog.”

Poe laughs. “That sounds like you.”

It’s also the first time Finn has mentioned his family, Poe realizes. Maybe he’s unpracticed at keeping friends or making new ones, but he never thought to ask about Finn’s family, and Finn never brought it up. They haven't known each other for long, though, so maybe that's normal.

"I used to pretend a lot of stuff,” Finn says, a little quieter, the breeze tickling the collar of his shirt. “That feels nice,” he says.

“Yeah, it’s hot out. A breeze is good,” Poe says, shielding his eyes with his hand and looking up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

“Take your shoes off,” Poe says. "Let's take a walk.”

Finn does take his shoes off, revealing tidy white dress socks which he also removes. He jams one sock into the other and then knots it before pushing it into the toe of one of the shoes. He's neat, even when he's not, Poe thinks. _He should probably be hanging out with college kids from this town, not me._

The circumvent the wedding and walk down the beach. The sand is soft and white, seaweed dried in a line up it where the tide used to reach, followed by a mass of seashells, pink and white and grey. Some of them-abalone or sea glass or perhaps just very shiny-blink back up at them as they catch the salmon pink light from the sun.

“I’ve never been to the beach before,” Finn says after a minute, the hems of his slacks dirty with sand. He pushes his feet through the sand.

“Oh,” Poe breathes, a little surprised. “Wait, did you move here recently?”

Finn nods. “Yeah. I’m from Iowa.”

“Oh, shit,” Poe says, and grins, suddenly overwhelmed with affection for Finn. He's new and he's nice and if he's willing to hang around with Poe, Poe isn't going to stop him. “So, this is baby’s first beach day?”

Finn laughs brightly. “I guess so!”

Poe skips through the sand so he’s ahead of Finn and turns to face him, walking slowly backwards. “We should build a sandcastle,” Poe suggests, smiling around his cigarette.

“You know how?” Finn asks, looking doubtfully up at Poe from under his eyelashes.

“It’s not about knowing _how,_ ” Poe replies. “You just make a pile of sand.”

“That hardly sounds worth doing.”

Poe pouts and Finn laughs. Poe slows and turns back around so he can walk at Finn’s side again. Finn moves away from him and toward the water so that the gentle waves lap at his ankles.

“How’s the water?” Poe asks.

“Good,” Finn replies. “Warm, unfortunately.”

Poe smiles.

“Oh, shit, look!” Poe exclaims. "Shark tooth,” he says, squatting down to pick up the tiny black triangle. Finn walks up to him.

"I can’t believe you saw that, it's so small," Finn marvels.

“Eyes of an ace pilot,” Poe says, smirking and giving Finn the most smug look he can muster, holding up the little black tooth.

“You’re ex-military?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, "Air force. I was the best of the best, buddy,” he grins, "a real life fly-boy, like in the movies," he says. Except it wasn't like in the movies at all at all. "Hell of an awful thing to be good at, though," he mutters, suddenly feeling less good than he did a moment ago. _Don't make this his problem,_ Poe thinks, and tries to smile.

Finn doesn’t look too sure about how to respond to that or whether or not he should keep talking about it, and changes the subject. Poe is thankful.

“Am I allowed to take these?” Finn asks, pointing down at the shells. Poe blinks.

“Uh, yeah. They’re public property.”

“Oh, cool,” Finn says, and then abruptly squats down and looks at them as if he’d been waiting to do so since the moment they arrived. Poe laughs.

“You starting a collection?”

“No,” Finn replies, “I’ve just never seen them before,” he says, picking up a broken shell and turning it over in his hand to look at the soft pink underbelly. “Some of these have barnacles on them,” he says with an air of fascination. Poe, who has been dealing with the shells for five years, has found their magic to be lost on him. That does not prevent him from ending up with a pocketful of the sea-debris, if only because Finn makes it all seem so damn interesting.

Finn takes two shells in his hand and rubs them together. They grate a little tinkling music out, and he pockets them.

“There are little pointy ones,” he says.

“Yeah,” Poe says. “When i was just a youngster like you, my Mom used to say they were unicorn horns that fell offa seahorses,” Poe says, smiling at the memory-the tattered him of her dress, the taste of salty sea air, the way her hand felt when it closed around his-and Finn laughs.

“That sounds like something a mom would say,” Finn says, his expression warm. Poe smiles softly towards him, even though Finn isn’t looking. His cheeks feel warm and the back of his neck feels even sweatier than it already was.

“You’d have liked her. Most people did. She's good and dead, now, but back then-” he stops himself. He keeps divulging too much. _Don't tell Finn about your dead mother you fucking idiot,_ he thinks, _you'll scare him off._ Finn doesn't seem scared at all though, and just purses his lips. _Please don't say you're sorry for my loss._ Poe wonders if this is all he has to say. Has he really been doing absolutely nothing for five years, so that this is all he can talk about? He wracks his brain. Are all of his stories like this?

“Hm,” Finn hums. “You wanna head back? The sun will set soon, and Rey is probably home and hungry. If I'm not back in time, she'll order pizza and not consult me on the toppings.”

Poe doesn’t. For the first time in a very, very long time, he doesn't want to go back to his apartment. He curses his short battery life, because being around people exhausts him, being outside exhausts him and he knows he’ll have to get back soon. But he doesn’t want to. Finn is so good, and so nice, his pockets full of seashells and sand in his hair. Poe could look at him forever, even though he shouldn't. He feels warmly towards Finn again, because apparently Finn can make him feel like this when he hasn't felt like this in a long time. He hasn't enjoyed anything in a long time, he realizes. He doesn't even enjoy doing the things he likes any more. But he had fun today.

"Sure,” he says, scuffing his foot through the sand. “I’ve got some leftover lasagna to heat up anyway.”

"Yeah, and you’ll get a sunburn if you’re out here much longer,” Finn says. “You’re already a bit red on your cheeks and nose.”

Poe touches his face. It doesn’t burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finns POV next time ! gotta properly meet rey and expand on him a little bit


	3. daisies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finn and rey have a nice time

They’re in a field of daisies. Finn is snapping pictures with a disposable camera, and wondering how his life could ever feel like this, and how he could ever have deserved it.

“Hey, kid,” Han shouts over at him. Finn turns.

“Yeah, Mr. Solo?”

Han grunts, his surly gaze fixed on Finn, the long, the wispy white hair of his eyebrows making him look somehow older than he is. His leather vest swung around his shoulders, cowboy boots on, jeans rolled up his calves. He’s Han Solo.

“Get over there,” Rey hisses, running up behind Finn and jabbing him in the abdomen with her sharp little thumbs. “He’ll get mad if you fuss around too much, you know he hates fussing.”

“Kid, just get over here and help me set this up before the sun sets, alright?”

This isn’t Han Solo’s property. It’s a huge vacant lot in the middle of what could objectively be described as nowhere, and there are daisies on every inch of the ground. It’s a peculiar sight, but not an unwelcome one. It’s a gift Finn won’t question. He’s tired of questions. He’s tired of things being complicated. Being happy, he has recently discovered, is an act of extravagant simplicity.

“Coming, Mr. Solo,” he announces, stepping high over the daisies, which brush pleasantly against his knees.

Han is crouched in a patch of bare earth where the daisies don’t grow, model rocket in one hand, cheap beer in the other. To his left is his van, the windows tinted and the doors hanging open, filled with junk and an old mattress and three broken lava lamps.

“What do you need me to do?” Finn asks, squatting down.

“Just set up the launch while I go take a piss. And keep an eye on Rey,” he says, nodding over Finn’s shoulder to where Rey is standing. “She’s been eyein’ them sticker bushes over there for a bit. They got blackberries, but she’ll go and stab herself on them.”

Finn doesn’t feel like he’s in any position to watch over Rey-if anything, it’s usually the other way around-but he nods anyway. Han eyes him suspiciously for a moment, like an old dog that doesn’t know if it’d like to be petted or not, and then gets up to move away from him, leaving him there in the bright mid-day sun, squatting amidst the daisies.

“Oh,” Han says, stopping mid stride when he gets a little ways away from Finn and the van. “And if you break that model rocket of hers, I’ll shove my fist so far up your ass that you’ll taste my wedding ring.”

“Understood,” Finn replies, giving him a salute. Han makes a noise in response and walks away.

“So!” Rey shouts and leaps onto Finn’s back, legs first, nearly toppling him forward into the rocket.

“Rey!” he grouses, trying to shove her off, but only succeeding in allowing her to sit on his shoulders.

“He told you to look after me, huh?”

Finn swallows. “No?”

“He told you to look after me. _Son of a bitch._ You know, it doesn’t matter how old I get, he still thinks I’m going to fall face first into the nearest sharp rock and die,” she says. She leans forward so she’s upside down, looking at Finn, smiling widely. “He’s just being a dad. How great is that?”

“Must be nice,” Finn says, smiling conspiratorially with her.

Rey, like Finn, was an orphan.

They were adopted into two very different kinds of families.

Rey doesn’t need to know about that.

“It is very nice,” she says, sighing and getting up off of Finn’s shoulders so he can keep working. “You’re doing that totally wrong, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” he sneers up at her. “You built the damn thing, _you_ put it together. Everybody’s trying to tell me what to do. Solos, I swear.”

“You haven’t heard anything from Organas,” Rey says, and then wiggles her eyebrows. “You think Han is tough, but he's like the sad old hound to Leia’s cool, slick doberman.”

“You’re a dog person, huh?”

“I wish we could have pets at the apartment. Or at all,” she sighs, putting the model rocket together with her nimble hands, her thin fingers making easy work of the small parts. “Han moves around too much to keep any animals, and Leia’s too busy. Uncle Chewie has a dog, but he’s not around much any more. But someday,” she says, biting her lip and clicking the rocket into place, “I’ll have my own stolen van, and I’ll put my own stolen dog in it, and we’ll go to the wild west together and drive down long dirt roads like in the movies.”

“Why’s the dog gotta be stolen?” Finn asks with a snort.

Rey seems to think about it for a while, and then shrugs.

Finn thinks for a moment, pushing his hand out so that it can meet the daises, running it along the stems and swishing them side to side. “I’m a cat person,” he says.

“Blasphemous, godless heathen,” Rey says tonelessly, and Finn laughs.

“I just prefer their company! Dogs are cool, too.”

“That’s like saying ketchup is better than mustard on hot dogs,” she says, giving him a dry, unimpressed look, her hair tied up in the world’s most tangled ponytail.

Finn stares at her.

"Oh my god, you filthy midwestern hippie garbage!” she shouts at him.

“Mustard is too spicy!” he whines back.

“You are a _baby._ Someday, you are going to eat a thing and experience a flavor. Fuck you, Eighty-Seven.”

“It’s _Finn_ now, dipshit,” he snorts, and shoves her slightly. She hammers his thigh with a hard punch and he yelps.

“Excuse me? Dipshit? Didn’t realize I had to take that from a guy who wears sweater-vests,” she says, and then pauses, looking at him. “Wait...Finn?”

Finn pauses, and then shrugs. He’s been calling himself that in his head for a while now. He guesses it stuck. It's better than his real name, and he wants it to _be_ his real name. Now that he's free, he can do that, he can make it his real name. He's going to. “Yeah. Finn, these days.”

“Hm,” Rey murmurs. “Why the change?”

“You know Poe, that guy from down the hall who was asleep on our couch?”

Rey just looks confused, tilting her head to the side.

“Oh my God, you come home to a stranger asleep on our couch and you don’t even remember him? Alright, yeah, well...that guy. He suggested it, and I like it. So I’m keeping it.”

Rey purses her lips and drags her eyes over Finn's face in a way that makes him feel picked apart and shy.

“You know, Eighty-Se-arm, Finn, I don’t like to dig, and you know I’ll call you whatever you want, but…”

Finn swallows and looks down. “Ah, right. I guess you wanna know?”

She sighs. “You don’t have to tell my anything, okay? Everybody has _stuff._ I get that, trust me. Just don’t let yourself pick up too many secrets, alright? They get hard to keep,” she says. He smiles at her, and she puts her hand on his shoulder gently, rocking him a bit.

“Thanks, Rey,” he murmurs, a little tattered inside but glowing. Getting away meant everything to him. Being here, being Finn, being _Finn with Rey_ is everything to him.

Rey is so important to him, and she can’t even know, she can't possibly realize it. He leans over and puts his head on her collarbone and she sighs, pressing her fingers into his hair and scratching gently.

He knows he’s getting too attached too quickly. They this is more about what Rey meant to him than who she is, but he can’t help it.

It’s so weird to get away and realize what it’s like to actually be loved by someone, to realize that the things people in his life had convinced him were love...weren’t. To be so afraid and so happy at the same time. Why can’t he just run into her arms and forget everything? Forget his entire life before this, shed it like a snake sheds its skin? Lose the parts of himself that his upbringing built wrong?

He hates who they made him into. He hates being this scared, and this guilty, and this messed up inside. He hates that he can’t even tell what angle it's coming from, that everything he knows about himself and about love is a tangled, wrong mess.

“Hey, you two quit canoodlin’ in the flowers, this ain’t a rom-com,” Han grouses and Finn jolts up immediately, startled out of his thoughts.

“Mr. Solo, I wasn’t-”

“Shut up, kid, it’s fine,” Han says, waving one hand and taking a swig of the beer in his other. “This thing ready or what? I didn’t drive you two all the way out here to stand in a field of flowers with our thumbs jammed up our assholes waiting for this planet to go hurdling into the sun, finally, mercifully, killing us all,” Han rambles down into nothing. “Rey, be a sweetheart and close the door to the van? Don’t want the rocket wigging out and flyin’ into it. It’s fulla flammables.”

Rey groans and gets up, slamming the doors shut. The van is a safe distance away, but who knows what Han really has in there.

“Live grenades,” Han whispers to Finn, who feels all his guts puddle on the ground, and takes a swig of the beer. He then turns around and throws the bottle as hard as he can into the air, where it disappears. “Alright, back up. Safe distance, kiddos.”

Finn and Rey back up. Finn, slightly frightened of the rocket, takes Rey’s hand.

“You don’t need to hold my hand, I’m fine,” she insists.

“I’m not,” he replies. She rolls her eyes, but tightens her grip on his fingers.

“Thee, two,” Han counts down, “one!”

There’s a short, fire-cracker-y explosion and the rocket shoots far up into the air, white smoke trailing behind it. Briefly, it reminds Finn of Poe, of the smoke that comes from between his lips, the way he always smells like it. For a moment, he wishes Poe were there to see this.

 _But Poe probably doesn’t have time to sit around in flower patches lighting shit on fire,_ Finn thinks, a bit insecurely.

Above them, the rocket pops in half and it’s colorful parachute deploys.

“Oh!” Rey shouts, bouncing and pointing, “there it is! It’s falling! Finn, lets go catch it!”

He wants to tell her that there’s no way they’re going to catch it, but she’s already running off after it like it’s a shooting star.

“Piss and vinegar, every day with that kid…” Han sniffs. “Be careful!” he shouts after her.

“I got it!” Rey screams at them from some distance, jumping up and down, before she yelps loudly and falls down.

Han sighs. “Right into the sticker bushes. What’d I say? What did I JUST say to you, Finn?”

“That she’d fall into the blueberry patch.”

“Exactly. Look at her,” he says, gesturing out to Rey, who is disentangling herself from a model rocket parachute and a wad of thorny vines, blackberries mushed against her arm in dark purple blotches like paint balls. Finn snickers and Han gives him a hard look. “It’s not funny.”

Finn stops laughing, swallowing audibly. Han continues staring.

“That was a joke," Han says, face blank. “It’s obviously hilarious. Just look at her,” he says, and then barks a short, fond little laugh.

“Aha...ha…” Finn nervously responds, hoping Rey will run back over soon. Fortunately, she does.

By the time the Han and Rey have been through a six pack of cheap beer together, Finn elects himself designated driver, and they all take the slow drive back home. He reminds Rey that she’s too young to drink, and she kicks him in the shin.

When he parks Han’s van in the parking lot, Han shoos them out, promising not to drive. In stead, he plans to sleep in the parking lot. Finn insists that he can sleep inside, but Han doesn’t seem to have any interest in sharing an apartment with two young adults.

He practically has to carry Rey up to bed. Between her obscene hours at Plutt’s and today’s events, she’s tuckered out. When they get in she makes a beeline for her bedroom with only a quick, mumbled goodnight, shuts the door, and doesn’t come out again, presumably asleep.

Finn sighs and looks around the living room and adjoined kitchen. He’s tired, too, but also wired and worked up from the positive feelings. It’s a weird, foreign feeling, and at first he wasn’t sure he liked it, but now he wants it all the time. He wants to talk somebody. He wants to share what happened today with somebody.

So he knocks on Poe’s door.

It takes a long time for Poe to answer, and for a moment Finn wonders if he’s intruding, before he hears the chain lock being undone and the door swings open. Poe is standing there in all his usual glory, which is to say, a leather jacket over a dirty T-shirt...and boxers.

“Couldn't put on pants, even for me?” Finn asks, eyebrows up. Poe blinks at him, looks down, and then hisses out, “shit,” shutting the door and disappearing. Finn giggles, waiting for him on the stoop.

While he’s waiting, Finn leans up against the door. “Poe, I had the most amazing day today,” he says, hearing Poe rustling around on the other side. “I went and set off model rockets with Rey in this field of flowers. It was like that scene from Twilight, but she’s not a vampire and I’m not Bella Swan,” he rambles, before he hears Poe’s heavy footsteps and backs away, the door swinging open again.

This time it’s just Poe in jeans and a sweatshirt and a laid-back attitude. He looks tired, his eyes sunken and heavy, but to Finn’s knowledge he just always looks like that. He’s smiling, though, which is wonderful, his lips stretching over a gap-toothed grin that makes him look very, very handsome. Finn’s heart flutters a bit when he sees him, sleepy eyed and smiling, his straight, dark eyebrows high on his face. He's all dark curly hair and relaxed shoulders and the smell of smoke and dust.

“Tell me _all_ about it,” Poe replies, voice gravely, and then invites Finn into his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well poe was only in this for like 2 seconds but i WANTED TO YELL ABOUT FINN AND REY


	4. rough stuff.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: they talk about suicide and a bunch of bad shit for like 50% of the chapter, mentions of.,,,vague alcohol stuff, etc. if u dont wanna read that part ive put a brief summary at the end. wanna read the early part? might wanna stop reading when poe starts apologizing for possibly saying something wrong to finn, and finn brushes him off. and then the end has hand and leia talking abt kylo !

“Here, like this,” Poe says, leaning around Finn, an arm on each side, to help Finn chop an onion.

Finn can’t cook. He seems to have very little experience with any domestic tasks outside of cleaning, and only knows how to make food that has directions on the box it comes in.

“I’m going to chop my fingers off,” Finn grunts. Poe scoffs.

“No you aren’t. Just don’t chop like that. It’s an onion, not a science project.”

Somehow, Finn keeps coming over. He has a lot of spare time over the weekends when he isn’t working, and when he isn’t spending that time goofing off with Rey, he’s in Poe’s apartment. Poe doesn’t know how much time has passed since they met, but he knows it’s not enough for him to be giving Finn cooking lessons. He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though; Finn’s visits are the highlight of his week.

Finn slowly and deliberately chops the onion. Poe smiles.

“Okay, once you’re done with that, we’ll add the potatoes, then the curry powder, then the coconut milk-are you listening?”

Finn nods, tongue sticking out of his mouth, focusing own on the onion. He’s trying to get the slices perfectly even, which is endearing, but Poe would like to eat dinner at some point today, so he pushes Finn out of the way and makes quick work of the two onions he has set out.

“There, see? They don’t have to be perfect."

“Says the guy who just did it perfectly,” Finn huffs.

Poe likes cooking. It’s routine. It’s the same every time, no surprises, and you get food at the end. He even went out and bought groceries for tonight just so it wouldn’t look too much like the only things in his fridge are condiments, cheap beer, and four slices of American cheese.

“How can you do this, Poe? You say a 'pinch' of something, or you say, 'chop it up.' But how much is chopped up? How big are the pieces? How much is a pinch? I deal in specifics, Poe.”

“Calm down, if you fuck up it ain’t the end of the world,” Poe says, patting the small of Finn’s back. One thing he’s learned about Finn is that he’s always afraid of mistakes, won’t do anything unless he’s certain he’ll be able to do it right. It can be an admirable trait, that kind of perfectionism, but Finn always seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop, too quick to give up when he thinks he might cause trouble or mess up.

“But then you would have bought all this for nothing.”

“You bought half of it, and it wasn't even that expensive. Here, peel these potatoes, buddy,” Poe says, heating the burner. His stove is old and the plastic knobs that control the temperature are eroded and always look dirty. Above the stove is a framed photograph leaning against the wall of his mother standing in a field of sunflowers, holding him in her arms. He was just a baby.

His kitchen is a mess, a tiny and wrapped around an even tinier dining table. The table has two chairs, but Poe only ever sits in one, so it’s he one that’s pulled out and has a dent in it from where he keeps his wallet in his back pocket. They’re mismatched, too-not even from a set.

Finn does manage to peel the potatoes, albeit very slowly and _perfectly_ so that they’re almost exactly round and smooth when he’s done. Poe appreciates his dedication to his cause, and secretly watches the way the tip of his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating, like a cat when it’s half asleep.

Talking to Finn is getting easier. Poe likes him, and he tries not to worry so much about scaring him away. He does wonder why Finn keeps coming back, why he always seems to want to spend time together, but Poe does like it, so he figures he shouldn’t push.

It does make him feel like a bit of a creep, though, when he’s guiding Finn’s hands with a knife, standing right behind him, so close he can smell Finn’s aftershave. _You’re reading into this too much because you want him to like you,_ he thinks. _He’s not that kind of guy. Wouldn’t go for somebody like you, nohow._

But that doesn’t stop Poe from doing it. There are times when he almost loops his hand shyly around Finn’s waits, and then jerks suddenly away, feigning some kind of nervous gesture in the hopes that Finn won’t notice. Finn doesn’t.

Finn can barely leave the food alone when it’s simmering down, keeps trying to open the lid or stir it, and Poe has to physically redirect him to keep him from turning the potatoes into a mash by abusing the food too much. It smells good, and Poe’s apartment feels alive for the first time in a long time, with food and another real human being in it. Poe feels jittery and happy and present. So much of his life barely feels real; time passes without his consent, and he never really feels like he's living in the moment. But it feels like he is now.

“I have Netflix,” Poe says, and Finn gives him two thumbs up.

As it turns out, Finn has seen almost no movies. He has an intricate knowledge of every single show for toddlers there is-Barney, those awful Booh-Bah things, all of them-but has no knowledge of virtually anything else, strangely enough.

Poe Dameron sits and has dinner with Finn on the couch in his apartment, amidst the empty cans and take out tins, and realizes how much he missed this. Not just Finn, but people in general. Looking at Finn when he gets absorbed in a movie or when he taps Poe’s thigh to whisper something to him; it makes Poe wonder what happened to all his friends.

Poe used to be a popular guy. Not in that high school way either, in the real way where people just LIKED him because he was a good guy. Poe always believed that if you do what you do good and right, you can get anywhere, that if you treat people well, you’ll never be alone. So what happened? When did that philosophy fall apart? When was it that he stopped being a cocky kid with a gap between his teeth and his hands in his pockets, and started being a sad 30-something who cut himself off from all his friends and his family?

Why did he stop being a good, right person, he wonders, looking at Finn. He swallows loudly, Finn’s face illuminated by the light from the TV, dinner finished, the collar on Finn's polo shirt messed up. 

Get better, he thinks. Get better for him, get better for yourself. You can do it, see? You’re doing it right now.

He thinks of Jessika and Snap and Iolo. His friends who he left behind. After a while, Jessika stopped leaving messages on his machine and Snap topped sending birthday cards; after a while, all they were was a reminder of who he was and what he did.

But that wasn’t their fault. He blamed them and he snapped at them and he put himself away, hoping that he could just shed the past, but he can’t. All he did was shed people who didn’t deserve it.

Hesitantly, he puts an arm around Finn’s shoulders, a head on his chest. Finn jumps slightly but doesn’t reject him. _Just let me have this,_ Poe thinks, _I know I don't deserve it, but you make me feel like I could if I tried._

Finn’s body is warm and soft. Poe realizes, suddenly, as he’s tucked into Finn’s side, arm around him, that he’s been starved for a lot of different kinds of love. He forgot that just touching another person like this is _necessary_ , that it’s part of human survival. It’s like he’s been stuck in some self inflicted Harry Harlow experiment for five years.

“Hey, Poe?” Finn sighs, leaning to face him, so close Poe can see a split in his lip where he’s chewed it too hard.

“Yeah, buddy?” Poe drawls.

“Would you mind teaching me to cook more stuff? I mean, you don’t have to, but-” Finn pauses. “I'm not very good at it, and now that I live with Rey…”

Poe grins broadly.

“Yeah, sure. You’re always welcome here.”

Finn snorts. “Maybe I’ll learn to make more than instant ramen. Eat something better than Cheetos dipped in condensed tomato soup.”

Poe wrinkles his nose. “Good lord. Didn’t your parents teach you this stuff?”

Finn goes tense under his arm, and for a moment it puzzles Poe. Poe, who had two very loving parents, who doesn't realize what he’s said until he’s already said it. And then, after a second of confusion, he just _knows_. He sees it in the way Finn looks down and away like he’s afraid Poe will see something on his face and yeah, people who have good relationships with their parents don’t react like that when they’re brought up.

“Guess not,” Finn mutters. “No, I was…no.”

“Hey, you okay?” Poe asks, nervous, “I did’t mess up, did I? C’mon, did I say something-I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no, it’s okay, You didn’t do anything!” Fin insists, and Poe removes his arm from around Finn’s shoulders, feeling a bit guilty.

“My parents taught me a lot of things,” Finn says, nodding his head and wringing his hands, but it doesn’t sound endearing or like he’s thankful. He sounds bitter, but more than just bitter; mournful, but more than just mournful. Angry, but more than just angry. _What did they teach you,_ Poe wonders, and realizes that maybe he doesn’t know much about Finn at all.

Maybe nobody does. Who is this kid, barely out of college, no family, no money, no name? Who is this guy?

Poe forgets it sometimes, but people don’t just how up with no name. Poe has known since they met that Finn was running away from something, but Poe had never donated much thought to what out of respect for Finn. It’s not his place to speculate on something private like that.

Finn leans forward, the TV chattering, and puts his elbows on his knees, his knuckles driving into his mouth, eyes focused on nothing. Hesitantly, Poe reaches a hand out and splays it across Finn’s back, petting him gently.

“I’m okay, really,” Finn says, but his voice is empty like a grave.

“You sure?”

“I don’t know,” Finn replies, all whispers and weakness and the solemn sound of fear, and Poe wonder if THAT’S the truth. He hears it in the way Finn says it. _That's_ the truth.

“You know you ain’t obligated to tell me anythin’,” Poe starts, feeling a bit awkward but no less willing to try, “you don’t have to, but y’know, I can keep secrets, okay? I’m not gonna gossip about you or nothin’, or judge you, or feel bad if you got some bad thing going on in your life,” Poe says. He swallows. “I dunno if you noticed, but I ain’t got my shit together, either. So if you need to commiserate or just... somebody listen, I got you, alright?”

He waits patiently to see if that was the right thing to say. Apparently it was, because Finn lets out a long, tired breath and scrubs at his eyes. “Thanks,” he croaks. “I mean, it’s nothing. Really. Everyone has problems.”

“Don’t mean yours don’t count,” Poe says, patting him gently.

Finn looks at him intently for a moment and leans back, sighing.

“Poe, this is a deep hole I dug myself into,” he murmurs. “I don’t know if I want to drag you into it.”

“I want you to,” Poe insists. “I’m your friend, buddy, it’s my job. Ad before you say I’m asking because I’m obligated, I’m not. I’m asking because I wanna know more about you. I wanna help if I can.”

“This isn’t nice, fun stuff,” Finn says. “This isn’t like cooking dinner together or going to the beach.” He turns his head to look at Poe, his eyes dark and scrutinizing in a way that Poe has never seen before, and Poe can tell he’s on the verge of something, of telling Poe something he isn’t sure if he wants to tell him or not. He's tense and nervous, his fists clenched, looking a bit like he's waiting for Poe to blow up at him.

“Friends aren’t just here for the nice, Fun stuff, buddy,” Poe assures. He knows, because he used to have friends like that. “They’re there for _you_.”

Finn opens his mouth, and then closes it. “I don’t know how to start talking about this,” he murmurs. “I never tried.”

Poe shrugs. “Anywhere you want, anytime you want. I got forever, pal, I promise.”

Finn licks his lips and looks up at the ceiling. “Poe, I think about dying every single day. When I'm alone I think about offing myself.”

Poe's breath catches. He holds still.

And then he lets it out. He breathes out. _Calm down, Poe,_ he thinks, _this isn’t about you or how you feel. Don’t make him feel guilty, or like he has to soften the blow for you. You’ve been in his position. You know how it feels, waiting for someone to get angry or leave you._

“That’s serious, Poe says. “Why d’you feel like that?”

“I don’t know,” Finn replies. “Or maybe I do. I can’t tell. When I realized I was busted up, all broken up inside, I,” he pauses. Finn’s voice isn’t emotional. It’s empty, analytical, like he’s run this over a thousand times in his head. “I don’t know. I keep uncovering new, messed up stuff. Poe,” he says, turning to look into Poe’s eyes. “Don’t you dare tell anyone. I won’t do anything, I promise, but don’t you dare say a word, I’m serious.”

Poe nods. He knows what it’s like to be in this situation. He’s there all the time.

“I got you. I trust you,” Poe replies, “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, buddy.”

Finn chews his lip, and THAT’S when he gets emotional, his voice all broken and small and wet. “You don’t think I’m a fucked up, do you?” he sniffs.

“Oh, no, sugar pea, of course I don’t,” Poe murmurs, leaning in and putting his arms around Finn’s frame, his head on Finn’s shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong with you. This isn’t your fault.”

“It took me so long to figure out that it all wasn’t normal,” Finn says shakily, almost angrily, “and now that I’m looking back, I can’t-I cant even figure out all the stuff that was wrong, I can’t even figure out what made me like this,” he says. “I thought I could fix it, handle it myself. But I can’t, Poe.”

“Finn, there's nothing wrong with who you are, you didn't do anything to deserve feeling like this,” Poe murmurs. He’s practically quoting Jessika word for word, hoping that what helped him might help Finn. “You deserve to be happy.”

“I always thought that if I got good enough, that if I did enough, I’d be happy,” Finn murmurs. “But It just never happened. I didn’t realize until I got out how bad things were, that they weren’t normal, Poe. My family...they are’t my family. The First Order, all of it-” he sniffs, “for so long I thought that was normal.”

Poe holds him tight, wonders about everything, about Finn's family, about the First Order. The tag on his shirt, the way it looked too much like a uniform; it's all a bit baffling. He doesn't want to pry. "The First Order, Poe," Finn sniffs, "you don't understand. I thought they were my family. They controlled everything. Our diets, when we slept, what we did, who we talked to. Sometimes, when we were young, they'd deprive us of sleep for really long periods of time. Kids would hallucinate. They cut us off from everything, and-I, I didn't even notice until it was too late," he breathes, "I didn't even see it until I was too far in. My parents, they-those people-they- _Poe, I-_ " Finn babbles, and Poe can feel something in the tenseness in his back, the way he devolves from speech into nonsense and quick, fruitless gasps for breath. The trembling, the way his hands flex into claws; Finn is on the verge of a panic attack.

"Hey, hey," Poe coos, keeping his voice calm and steady, drumming his fingers against Finn's back, "this is real. You're here, with me. Nobody is going to hurt you here. You're safe. You don't have to tell me any more, okay, buddy? You don't gotta tell me nothin'."

Finn gasps and shudders. "Breathe," Poe reminds calmly. "It's okay, just focus on breathing."

Poe can't fathom who would do this. Who would do this to Finn?

He has questions. Picking apart what Finn said; it sounds like this is bigger than just him. Poe thought maybe he was running from shitty parents or an ex, but it sounds bigger than that. Like there were others. Poe still has no idea, could never pry for answers, no with Finn this unstable. That's not the priority right now. What matters is how Finn feels.

"You don't have to talk about it, okay, Finn? You don't have to ever if you don't want to. I don't expect anything of you, baby, whoever you are and whatever you do, that's more than good enough."

Finn gasps and gulps and then stills against Poe's arm. "Sorry," he says, a little weakly. "I thought-I really thought I could talk about it, I'm sorry..."

"You have nothin' to be sorry for," Poe murmurs, running his hand up and down Finn's back.

"You can't tell anyone, Poe," Finn says seriously, "I mean it. They'd find me, they'd find you. They'd never stop following me. I was one of the lucky ones."

It just about breaks Poe's heart.

Poe sighs. He has to let this go, even though he doesn't want to. He has to let Finn stop talking about it. “Can I tell you something? Want me to tell you a story, make us even?” Maybe, hopefully, he can help Finn feel like he's not alone.

Finn sniffs, his frame shaking in Poe’s arms. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“When I was discharged, i had to be institutionalized. It was the worst, most nightmarish time of my life,” Poe grates out. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Doesn’t want to think about it. “I thought about it all the time. About not wanting to exist. I still do sometimes,” he murmurs, trying to keep his voice soft and calm. Trying not to shut down or escalate things. _Stay calm, don't let Finn feel guilty._

Finn relaxes in his grip. “Yeah?”

“It wasn’t about wanting to die. It was about not wanting to exist., and dyin’ was just how I could do that. When I got out I was sent back to live with my family ‘cause I had nowhere else to go, but I couldn't stay there. I felt too ashamed of what I did and who I’d become, like a burden to them. It was hell. And I knew my Dad kept guns in the house. Looked up how to die proper. You know you can shoot yourself in the mouth with a shotgun and live, if you don’t do it right?”

Finn breathes out a shaky breath. Poe feels Finn’s arms wrap around his waist, squeezing hesitantly. It feels good.

“But I didn’t do it. I hate pain, I guess, and that had a lot to do with it. In stead I started drinkin’ a lot. Not like a do now, but real bad. On the verge of somethin' worse. If Jess hadn’t stopped me, I dunno what would’ve happened,” he mutters. “Married once. Divorced only two months later. Came here,” he sighs. “It never went away, Finn. I couldn’t just fix myself like flipping a switch. I visited Organa and she taught me how to cope with it, how to learn to take my meds even though they make me sleepy, and not feel bad when I can’t do the things people expect of me all the time, but…” he pauses. “It’s not such a bad way to live. I’m happy right now, right? Here, with you, on the couch. That's the stuff you get by on.”

“You were married?” Finn whispers.

“Yeah,” Poe sighs. “To some woman. That was the thing, too. Don’t ask, don’t tell,” he snorts. “I’m gay. Boy, did that ever add a whole extra level of bullshit to my life.”

Finn is still and quiet for a long time. Poe just holds him, feeling a bit selfish for unloading like that, exhausted and limp and hanging against Finn’s body, feeling more connected to Finn than he’s felt to anyone in years. He’s so, so tired. Finn is busted up inside like he is, and he feels a real, human connection between them that makes him shudder deep in his bones.

“Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Finn murmurs. “I mean, I…”

“It’s alright, buddy,” Poe breathes, “this is a two way street.”

Finn is quiet again. “I’m happy around you, too.”

Poe smiles. He wants to kiss Finn more than he’s ever wanted to kiss anyone. He knows it’s just the emotional high and the sudden connection his his emotional starvation, but he still feels it. Finn can’t heal him and he can’t heal Finn, but he can be here for all those times when Finn needs to say those dark thoughts that scare people.

Poe knows what it’s like to lock all that stuff up so you don’t scare people. It does terrible, terrible things to a person.

“I’m sorry I told you that,” Finn murmurs. “I just-I never really had somebody to listen, so I jumped the gun, I guess.”

“Nah,” Poe says, shaking his head. “You hold that stuff in too much and something really bad will happen. You talked to Rey about it?”

Finn shakes his head. “No, she’s-she’s happy, Poe. She hasn’t always been, but she is _now,_ and I don’t want-I don’t want her to think that, I’m-”

“I get it.” Poe says. “You’re sweet on her, and you don’t want to drag her down or ruin things for her.”

Finn snorts a wet little laugh and pulls away all. Poe’s chest feels sweaty where he was gripping Finn so tight. “Yeah, I guess-I’ve got a little crush, maybe,” he says, and Poe watches him wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. “Shit, I haven’t cried in such a long time.”

“It’s good for you,” Poe says, giving Finn’s shoulder an affectionate tap. “My Mom used to say it purifies you. Gets all the bad stuff out, like a pool skimmer.”

God, Poe wants to kiss him. Wants to hold him, wants to bring him in and make him a part of Poe's life, but he’s _Finn._ He’s 23 years old, he has a life ahead of him, he’s not stable. Right now, Poe is the only person he’s told about this, about the way he feels, if Poe’s assumptions are correct. That puts Poe in a position to manipulate him, and Poe would hate to think that he used Finn’s emotional vulnerability to force him into a relationship he didn’t want.

Finn has a crush on Rey. It’s sweet, and cute, and they’re good for each other. Poe doesn't want to confuse Finn or make his life more complicated than it already is. _You aren’t good for him,_ Poe thinks. _He deserves somebody who can make him happy. Just support him the ways you can now. Don't expect anything._

So, in stead of kissing him, Poe puts a hand on Finn’s cheek. Finn leans into it, his skin soft, his cheek damp and shiny with the remains of shed tears. Poe, for once, feels like he did something right.

“Thanks,” Finn croaks again.

“Told ya, Finn,” Poe says, smiling broadly, “It’s what I’m here for.”

Finn smiles like he thinks Poe loves him, and Poe realizes that maybe he does.

After that, Finn makes much less of an event out of coming over to visit Poe. He knows Poe’s rules, knows to ask before he drops by, knows not to surprise him. But he comes over all the time, and Poe can tell when things are bad. The times when he comes over with nothing planned and just sits with Poe in silence for hours; that's when he knows Finn is thinking dangerous thoughts.

But he lightens up, too. Poe sees it in the way he walks, the way he dresses himself, even. He stops wearing dress socks all the time, buys a 3 pack of sweatshirts from wal-mart and stops doing things that are a force of habit. He starts looking less like a mannequin and more like himself.

He’s smitten with Rey, and Poe can tell that, too. He meets her one day, as he’s leaving to take stuff to the laundromat. She and Finn are standing in the parking lot, chatting casually, and Poe waves at them. Finn waves back enthusiastically, and Rey does too. _She’s cute and young and they have a lot in common,_ Poe thinks. _Maybe she’s what Finn needs to get back on his feet. Maybe he just needs somebody to validate him so he can start working out how to deal with things on his own._

Finn will not go into specifics about his life, but Poe does find out a couple new things. For one, Finn is an artist.

Not by trade, of course. Finn apparently went to college to major in something else, but he’s very, very talented. Poe catches him drawing on a piece of printer paper once, and it’s really, really good. He seems shy about it, hides it and then doesn’t draw stuff in front of Poe any more. Poe wonders if he’s ever been punished for it.

Later, Finn visits again. They make spaghetti. “Hey, Poe?” Finn says.

"Yeah?”

“When I was still with the Order, my best friend, Slip, committed suicide,” Finn says easily and mechanically, as if he were talking about nothing important at all. “It was my fault.”

Poe doesn’t say anything about who’s fault it was, or about what a tragedy that must have been. He just claps his hand over Finn’s lower back sympathetically and says, “Rough stuff, buddy.”

Because it is. Life is rough stuff.

Meanwhile, Han Solo is standing in Leia Organa’s office. She’s got her head in her hands, and she looks tired. Her desk is strewn with papers, and the little plaque with her name on it is tipped over.

“Leia,” he starts.

"Don’t, Han, please.”

Han shifts on his feet and looks around, unsure how to approach this situation. He’s never been good with feelings or with talking. “You know Rey thinks the world of you.”

Leia sighs. “That’s-that doesn't help. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

"You’re not stupid,” Han says. “You miss our son. That's not stupid.”

She doesn’t cry. Her eyes are soft and intelligent and she doesn’t cry. She's tough as nails, always has been. “Am I a bad mother to Rey?”

Han sighs and walks forward, his leather boots clunking against the floor. He pulls a chair up next to Leia and sits with her. “No.”

“You don’t-you can’t say that. How can I-How can I even try to find Ben again, when she’s right there? Han, I haven’t spoken to her in weeks.”

“She knows you’re busy.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“Leia, I’m taking care of her as best I can. Ben might be a lost cause,” he says, but she’s not.:”

Leia sighs. “I wish Luke could have helped him. I wish I could've realized what was happening. I wish I would have known we were losing him.”

Han shrugs. It’s painful.. He hates to think of his son’s smiling face. Losing Ben, though it is cliche, was like losing a piece of himself. Like somebody ripped off a body part. Some things are cliche because they’re true. “Nobody could have. Some people just-sometimes, it’s just…”

He doesn’t have answers.

He wants his son back, too.

Leia put her head on his shoulder and he holds her.

“You’re a good mother to her, Leia.” Han mutters. Leia snorts. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be _there_.”

“Do you think we could’ve helped it?” Leia asks. “Or do all parents fuck their kids up, just a little?”

“Speaking from experience, I’d say yes.”

“Was it our fault?”

“No. Leia, you’re...the First Order took him. We did everything we could, he didn’t want to come back. We can't force him to stop being who he chose to be.”

Leia holds him tight. “I know,” she whispers.

But she doesn’t. Han doesn’t. There is no way to know, and hope is an exhausting, terrifying beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY:  
> Finn reveals that he's been having suicidal thoughts. Poe comforts him. Finn is still incredibly vague about his upbringing or where he came from, but mentions the first order again. he talks about being cut off from the world and thinking it was normal. poe talks about his life after the military and how much it sucked, including a failed marriage to a woman he won't name.
> 
> and the rest is fairly safe to read
> 
> man this was hard to write! we got off to a fun start but,,,,
> 
> maybe ill do something lighter and more fun for the next chapter since this was just basically one long sad conversation between finn and poe...


	5. sticky feeling.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little drug use my dudes

Poe almost falls over because Finn bops him in the head with a beach ball so hard it makes his teeth click together.

“Oooooh-ho-ho-ho!” Rey laughs. "You got him!”

“Hey!” Poe grouses, sitting under the umbrella and trying to read a book. “You two rascals quit horsin’ around!”

Fin’s hands are over his mouth and he looks shocked by himself, and Rey is pointing at him, as if to divert the blame.

The beaches are pretty vacant today, which means Poe can actually get out and pseudo-enjoy them. It’s easier with Finn and Rey around, their boundless energy notwithstanding. They can be pleasant but exhausting company, especially when they're together.

“That’s a sign of an old person, you know,” Rey accuses, “going to the beach just to lie on the sand. Get in the water!”

“Nope,” Poe replies. He’s not exactly in shape any more and he doesn’t plan to tire himself out chasing after either of his friends.

He will, however, enjoy the view from behind his sunglasses. Poe may have fallen a bit behind, but Finn looks good. He goes to the gym pretty regularly, and while Poe wouldn't’ call him buff per se, he’d call him...well put together. _Don’t watch him, you creepy asshole,_ he thinks to himself. But he watches him anyway.

Poe himself is wearing swim trunks and a tank top. He had to buy them to go out, since the last pair of trunks he bought when he was in his twenties and they don't fit him any more. He has gained and dropped weight of different kinds; he doesn't have his old upper body strength, but he’s gained a bit of a belly. Muscle weighs more than fat so he’s technically lost weight, but when he looks down he has to wonder why he didn’t just take better care of himself when he was Finn’s age. Finn seems to have figured it out, his diet aside.

But Finn is 23 and spry so he can eat and drink pretty much anything, so fuck him. At least Poe's hair hasn't started to go grey like his Dad's did when he hit thirty.

Rey groans, annoyed, and runs to fetch the beach ball, which has been sent rolling down the sand by a slight breeze. Finn approaches him.

Poe looks up over his sunglasses at Finn, who stares down at him. “You know, you should get up.”

“You should get down.”

Finn purses his lips. “Fine,” he respond, and then kneels down in front of Poe so his arms are on either side of Poe’s legs, leaning over Poe’s feet just a bit. “Get up.”

“No.”

“Poe, we didn’t walk all the way out here for you to flake out.”

“I’m not flakin' out, I’m relaxing. Don’t you have a hole to dig or something?”

“Yeah,” Finn says severely, “your grave.”

Poe can't help the little snort of laughter that bubbles out of him. “Is that a threat?”

“I don’t know,” Finn says, “is it?”

Poe slaps Finn’s head with his book. “Ouch!” Finn says.

“Alright, then. Dig me a hole and put me in it.”

“Who’s digging what?’ Rey asks, walking back up to them, huge beach ball clutched in her hands, her hair pulled into a tight bun. She’s wearing boy shorts and a sports bra, since apparently she doesn’t own a proper bikini. Finn claims that most of her wardrobe is denim.

“We’re gonna dig Poe a grave,” Finn says.

“Sounds like a plan,” Rey replies, tossing the beach ball up in her hands. “We don’t have shovels, though.”

“Yeah,” Finn concedes, "and Rey can’t dig with her tiny baby hands. She'd scoop sand one tablespoon at a time.”

“Finn, why do you always have to make fun of my baby hands?” she accuses.

They end up digging a hole right next to where Poe is sitting, tossing loose sand onto his beach towel. Once it’s empty, they roll his limp body into it and start shoveling sand onto him.

"That feels nice, actually,” he mutters. “Real cool and soft.”

Once he’s buried, Rey and Finn threaten to go get ice cream without him, and he whines at them until they help pull him out of the sand. It forces him to get in the water to rinse it all off, and afterward they all stand under the little showers at the edge of the beach, washing sand out of sandals and bathing suits. Rey pulls the front of her shorts out so water can get in, and Finn informs her that she’s going to get a UTI from dirty beach water. She scrubs a fistfull of sand into his hair.

They walk to an ice cream shop nearby. It’s on the wealthier side of town, which means everyone there is old and dresses the same. Poe gets too nervous to go in-it’s a crowded, tight space with complicated smells and sounds and just the LOOK of it makes him tense-but Rey goes in for him and Finn both, promising to get them what they ask for. Once they both deposit wadded up dollar bills into her hands, she's off.

Poe and Finn sit on a bench. The sun is setting. Poe is tired.

“Hey, Poe?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“After this Rey is going to go visit her mom for a couple days,” Finn says. “You mind if I stop by? I got work all day on Friday, but Saturday I’m off.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It gets quiet in the apartment without her,” Finn concedes.

That’s how Finn ends up in Poe’s apartment that weekend.

“Here, look, you don't have to try it if you don't wanna,” Poe says. Finn is perched on his kitchen counter and Poe is sitting at the kitchen table. He’d taken a book off the shelf in his bedroom to reveal that it wasn’t a book at all, but a box; a box containing a tiny glass pipe and what Finn had genuinely mistaken for loose leaf tea.

It was not loose leaf tea.

“Mmm,” Finn mumbles.

“You mind if I smoke, anyway?”

“Not at all,” Finn replies. “Please, suit yourself.”

Poe shrugs his lanky, pointed shoulders and lights it up. When he closes his eyes and leans in to take a long drag, his eyes close, and for a moment Finn is stricken by how dark his eyelashes are. They’re pretty and thick, and Finn notices that he has very slight crows-feet at the edges of his eyes, the dark hairs of his eyebrows unkempt and creeping down his brow.

He inhales slowly and deeply with a rasping sound and then pulls back, holding the breath in for a long, quiet moment. Then his mouth drops open and the smoke travels like water from his mouth into his nose. Then he coughs.

Finn laughs and claps for him, slowly and sarcastically. “Wow,” he says. “What a talent.”

“Practice makes perfect. I’m tryin’ to impress you, in case you couldn't tell,” Poe relies with an easy grin, his voice raspy. “You sure you don’t want in on this? You ever smoked before?”

Finn shrugs. “Once or twice, in college. It just made me sleepy.”

“You should come lay on the couch and smoke with me,” Poe says, eyebrows going up in that cocky, “come hither” look he gives when he’s trying to get Finn to do something.

“You tempt me,” Finn replies.

“I’m a dirty little temptress,” Poe says, giggling a little and wiggling his eyebrows again, before taking another long drag from the pipe.

“Don’t act like I don’t know you bought that from Rey.”

Poe coughs. “Shit, she told you?”

“No duh.”

Poe is wearing a dirty t-shirt and sweatpants, his bare feet flat on the tiled kitchen floor. The ugly light beats down on him, but for once his hair is clean and fluffed, looking like big curls of shaved chocolate on a dessert. Finn usually only ever sees him looking like he just woke up inside a dumpster, but he cleans up good. Very, very good.

“You’re a handsome guy,” Finn observes without really thinking.

He feels his neck heat up and _no, shut up, it’s okay to compliment your friends. You can tell a guy he’s handsome, especially if he IS handsome._

And Poe Dameron is very, very handsome. He’s also paused, lips on the edge of his tiny glass pipe, cheap plastic lighter that probably came in a ten pack sitting on the kitchen table.

A grin stretches over his features and Finn can feel the smugness rolling off of him in waves. “You think so, buddy? Well, shoot. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Shut up, I regret saying anything,” Finn replies, looking down and away. “You just look good, that’s all.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Poe says, smiling like a fox, “I’d say you were makin’ a pass at me, Finn.”

Finn starts talking and then stop again and then thinks, _oh god, am I flirting with him? Am I flirting with Poe Dameron?_

Finn looks down at his legs, mind boggled, eyes wide. But he doesn’t have time to be introspective, to examine the beating of his own heart, because Poe’s chair creaks away from the table loudly as he stands up.

“Calm down, buddy, it was just a joke. You don’t gotta flatter me. You wanna smoke or what?"

“Yes,” Finn breathes, a little desperately, “Yes, please.”

What seems like minutes later, Finn is lying on the floor in Poe’s bedroom.

Giggling.

“You should stay over,” Poe mutters, trotting into the room and almost tripping over an open CD case, “we’ll make spaghetti and-shit, what did I come in here for?”

“I don’t know…” Finn replies blearily. He feels sleepy and content, like a cat in the sun. His muscles don't want to move, and he keeps getting distracted with the fiber of the carpet and the stains on the wallpaper.

“Boy, you melted into a puddle real quick,” Poe remarks, before flopping face first onto his bed. “You’re high.”

Finn giggles and rolls over onto his side. “I’m not!”

“You literally are,” Poe snorts a bubbling laugh. His eyes are pink at the edges and really glossy. He smacks his lips and says something about being hungry, but Finn stops paying attention.

“I just wanna sleep here,” Finn whines, face mashed into the carpet, which is probably disgusting. Poe’s entire bedroom s sort of gross. There’s dirty laundry everywhere, and the ceiling fan is broken, dead insects collected in the decorative glass bowl over the bulb. There’s a mini fridge by his dresser that has a half empty can of cream soda in it, and a pile of instrument cases in the corner of the room of varying sizes. Finn eyes them. He hasn’t asked about those. He wonders if Poe can play them all.

“Hey, Poe?” he mutters.

“Yeah?”

“...I forgot.”

Poe laughs. “Climb up here, pal,” he says. Finn hoists himself up onto Poe’s bed, climbing onto his downy soft comforter that feels good on Finn’s hands. The light coming in from the slats in the blinds is golden and nice and Finn can see dust particles floating through it. He marvels at how atmospheric it is.

“Earth to Finn, wake up buddy,” Poe says suddenly.

“Huh?”

Poe is snapping his fingers at him, lying there on his back with one arm tucked under his head, grinning. He giggles a short little snort.

It’s an incredibly endearing sound, in Finn’s opinion. Just as Poe's smile is an incredibly endearing smile, all laugh lines and tooth gap and the way his eyes crinkle up at the edges.

“You have such a nice laugh,” Finn breathes, and flops his body down onto Poe’s torso. Poe makes a loud “oof!” sounds and then laughs louder.

“Thank you! So do you, buddy,” he says, slapping Finn’s back gently with a limp hand.

“Okay, yeah, but,” Finn blabs, siting up and swinging a leg over Poe’s warm, flat torso so that he’s sitting on his belly, “not like yours, though.”

Poe, under him, curls his fists like a baby and smiles. “You’re flirty when you’re high.”

Finn squints at him. “That’s not true,” he says, losing his focus a bit in the texture of Poe’s stubble, “I’m just-you just…”

Poe is giggling again. “I’m just messin’ with ya, Finn, calm down,” he snorts and slaps Finn’s chest weakly. Finn breathes out a little laugh and slaps Poe’s chest, too, his hand sprawling out on his sternum, and…

...his shirt is _so_ soft, and his skin is _so_ warm. Finn swears he can feel every fiber, all tingly and fuzzy, and the meat under it. He slides his hand up, pressing down so that his fingertips carve into Poe's flesh like clay, dragging Poe’s shirt with it until his fingers reach the neck of the garment where Poe’s dark, curly chest hair peeks out just slightly.

Finn wonders if he’s hungry. His mouth is watering, and he wants to touch Poe all over. His other hand joins the first, sliding up Poe's side, and suddenly he’s acutely aware of how Poe feels between his thighs, the soft swell of his belly, the bob of his Adams apple. His neck is all red, a little sweaty. It all registers as incredibly sensual and pleasant.

Then he catches Poe’s eyes. They’re trained on him, wide open and dark brown. His lips are slack, revealing that little gap between his front teeth, his expression enthralled. Poe has a really, really, wonderful mouth, a kissable mouth, a pretty mouth that says pretty thoughts and Finn could just _eat him up._ Finn doesn't know what he wants, but he wants it _terribly_.

He’s leaning down, mind empty as if in a trance, and then they're kissing. Poe leans up to meet him and their mouths press wetly together, awkwardly at first and then more naturally as Finn moans and relaxes into it, lying down fully on top of Poe, who wraps his arms loosely around Finn’s shoulders, forearms crossed lazily behind Finn’s neck. Poe smells a little like dirty laundry and shaving cream and smoke.

Finn doesn’t hate it.

Their lips separate with a wet smack, and Finn breathes in Poe’s cent. “I’ve never kissed a man before,” he admits, airy and distant, and Poe groans, kissing him again before shifting his weight and rolling him over so that Poe is on top. Poe's weight is grounding and comfortable.

The sensations are overwhelming, and it seems to last forever, coaxing a slow burn in Finn’s guts. He knows he’s being loud, reacting to everything vocally, but he can’t help it. Every kiss makes goosebumps erupt on his skin, and the feel of Poe’s breath ghosting over his lips make shim feel like this is some kind of music video fantasy.

Poe’s stubble scrapes his lips and cheeks, and his tongue is hot and wet in Finn’s mouth. He’s sticky and languid and lazy, and when Finn grips his hair, he finds it soft and grabs a generous fistful. He pulls slightly. Poe squeaks, almost adorably, and sucks Finn’s tongue.

Finn’s heart is pounding wildly and it feels like they’ve been kissing for days. Poe's mouth is hot and wet and distracting, and he rolls his body deliciously over Finn’s, every sensation crackling through him like a bonfire. Poe eats every little worrying thought out of Finn's head.

"I can’t believe,” Poe breathes between kisses, “you'd even consider....” he pants, “with a guy like me…”

A guy. Yeah, that’s right, Poe’s a man. A gay man, who Finn is kissing.

Finn feels something like worry or fear bubble up in his chest, and maybe it's the high or maybe it’s the kiss or maybe it’s how badly Finn just wants to be happy, but he ignores it. For once he just wants to not think.

Finn’s whole body is hot and sensitive, and Poe bucks his hips down against him. Finn can feel him, hard against his thigh. Finn himself is only half-mast, sleepy and happy, but Poe is getting worked up. Finn marvels at the sound and feel of it, runs his hand down Poe’s back, feels every swell and dip of his anatomy.

Then he has one hand on Poe’s ass, the other in his hair, their mouths sealed together, kissing like teenagers. Finn feels like he’s flying.

Poe pulls away and their lower lips stick together slightly, just for a second. Finn opens his eyes. Poe is red faced and panting.

Poe swallows. “Sorry. It’s been, uh, a long time, pal,” he says. “And I was horny when you got here. Is that too much to say? Sorry, sorry…I have no filter…”

“I liked that,” Finn breathes, sounding surprised even to himself.

He LIKED that.

Finn has know this about himself for a long time. He’s had crushes on boys and men since he was very young. But he never acted on it; it was always easier to just _not,_ especially with the threat of anyone ever finding out. Something in his chest tightens.

Why does he feel so guilty?

“Aw, fuck,” Poe whines, sitting up and away from Finn. “Shit, I shouldn't have done that, I shouldn’t have-oh, man, I’m dirt, buddy, I’m scum of the earth,” he rambles, and scoots to the headboard, away from Finn.

“What are you talking about?” Finn rumbles, rubbing his face.

“I’m nine years older than you and no good for nobody, I shouldn’t have-we’re both high, I should never have let you kiss me,” Poe insists, sounding suddenly distressed.

Finn, still calmed and wondering how the hell Poe can be distressed right now, sits up and puts his hand on Poe’s bony knee.

“It’s okay, Poe, I’m not mad.”

“It’s not about whether or not yer mad, buddy,” Poe whines, “it’s about me being a sack of shit to you when you don’t know any better. You’re young and vulnerable and you have a lot of potential. All I am is some older guy you met maybe a month or two ago.”

“P-Poe,” Finn starts, but doesn’t know what he’s going to say, has trouble keeping track of his thoughts. He definitely still likes Rey. Maybe he feels disloyal to her, even though they aren’t dating?

He’s pining, he knows he is, but…

“I dunno,” Finn rumbles, putting one hand on either side of Poe’s hips, Poe’s knees against his chest, keeping Finn at bay. “Maybe I just like older guys.”

Poe swallows. His neck is still reddened and his cheeks are pinkish.

“I’m not just an older guy, Finn. I’m baggage and I’m stuck here and I couldn't-I can’t-you don’t know what you’re asking for, here…”

“Poe,” Finn says, as gently as he can. “I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m honestly,” he swallows, “a little confused. About this, I guess, and other stuff, too.”

Poe seems to relax visibly, his shoulders slumping.

Finn’s heart pounds in his chest. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside out. It’s not like how he feels with Rey; it’s not a light, fluttering feeling.

 _It’s different,_ he thinks, _because I now know that I actually have a chance with Poe. It’s different because this is real and could have consequences._

And then he laughs humorlessly and sits down next to Poe on the bed.

He breathes. He pauses. He isn’t sure what to say.

“You know, when I was with the First Order, they took my birth name. They treated us all like garbage, had us dismember our former selves. They made us hate who we were so we would change who we were. Convinced us it would be better to give everything up to the Order.”

Poe swallows and looks at him.

“Now I have a chance to sew myself back together. I need you for that, even if...no matter what you are to me, Poe.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Poe doesn't know what to say and Finn doesn’t blame him. This isn’t a thing that even Finn can stand to think about, so how could Poe be expected to understand it?

Finn takes his hand.

“This is stupid,” Poe grumbles. “We're both still high.”

“This conversation,” Finn admits, “is a little sobering. I really did like kissing you, though.”

Poe laughs a little and gives his best cocky smile. Finn recognizes it, but it’s subdued and a little shy. “That’s because I’m a great kisser, Finn. Good lookin’ to boot, dontcha think?”

Finn feels his cheeks heat and looks away. “A little.”

Finn doesn’t really know how to give love. He does it accidentally, sometimes, but he doesn’t know how to do it when and how he wants. He knows he’s doing it right now, in some ways. But he’s beginning to suspect that he has no experience with loving the way that Poe needs to be loved. Not just the physical aspect-Finn is a virgin, but he’s only 23 so that’s not too unusual-but the emotional aspect, too.

Poe is good at comforting him, at saying exactly the thing he needs to hear. Finn's heart warms at the thought. Poe’s is the only shoulder he’s ever cried on, and as cliche as it is, that means something to him.

But Poe is messed up too. He has his own problems, his own life. Finn didn’t miss the way there are things about his past that Poe just won’t talk about, his awkwardness, the way he runs out of energy and gets scared in groups. The way he sleeps all day sometimes, the little ways he falls apart every time Finn even insinuates that he cares about him.

How does he love Poe the way he needs to be loved, in turn?

Does he even want to? Can he offer what Poe wants? Is he even capable of that kind of love?

Finn frowns, bitter again. Angry again. They took that from him, too. He can’t even love somebody right. He can’t even do that part.

“Hey,” Poe says, snapping Finn out of his thoughts. “I guess now that, uh,” Poe coughs nervously and looks away, “my intentions with you are clear, um…”

"Yeah?”

“Would you...do I have permission to, uh...pursue you?” Poe asks, looking up at Finn from under dark eyelashes, his brown eyes swimming with something foreign to Finn. “Romantically?”

Finn blinks. “I...don’t know, I-”

“Not, like, dating!” Poe urges. “I’m not asking you to date me, but would you...begrudge...advances? You know,” he sniffs, “courting?”

Finn feels himself flush impossibly hotter. Oh, boy. “No, I, uh…” he gulps, “I wouldn't mind. No, yeah. It’s...I mean, this thing with Rey,” he babbles, “it’s not in stone, you know? Like, I like her, but I like you too, and I don’t know if she’s even interested, so, uh...you don’t have to feel like you’re encroaching on her territory or anything.”

“I just don’t wanna make things complicated for you,” Poe mutters. “You got enough goin’ on without my deadbeat ass draggin’ you down. You deserve a girl like Rey.”

“Poe,” Finn scoffs, “you’re _wonderful._ ”

Poe’s ears are red like maraschino cherries. He buries his face in his knees, and in that moment he hardly seems 32 years old at all. Finn can't help but smile.

"I know, haha...I’m...really somethin’, huh? Yeah. Thanks.”

Finn wants to kiss him again, but blames the slight high. This part of him is scary, too. He hates to admit it, but he’s afraid of being attracted to men. Always has been. He knows it’s not wrong, but that doesn’t change the sense of dread or guilt.

But if it’s Poe, then its…

He squeezes Poe’s hand.

Poe is good. Poe is a good person who cares about him, and there’s nothing wrong with the way he feels. _There’s nothing wrong with me,_ he thinks.

It doesn’t feel wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kiss kiss fall in...confusion


	6. Falcon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rey threatens to steal a car, and poe's apartment suffers an unwelcome visitor

Courting Finn, as it turns out, is not that easy.

For one thing, he works during the week, which means Poe can hardly contact him except after dark, and the after-dark mood makes Poe feel like he’s imposing so he doesn’t go for that. For another, Poe’s anxiety and inability to be in crowds or around loud or sudden noises makes it difficult. Typical date scenarios often involve crowds or long night-time phone calls, if Poe remembers correctly, and he can't really handle either of those things.

Poe hasn’t dated anyone in...shit, possibly ever? He dated his ex wife for about a year, but before that…he doesn’t even know. He’s sure he must've dated in high school.

The point being that Poe Dameron is sorely lacking in the romanticism department. He gave up on connecting with people in general even before his divorce, and before that he was in the military, and before that he was just some high school kid with no money and no sense and no boyfriend, either, because it was 1996 and people weren’t as open about things back then as they are today.

Frankly, he doesn’t think it would have mattered if they were, considering that he still can’t be seen in public holding Finn’s hand without worry crawling up his spine like a dark, cold insect. It's force of habit, he knows that. But in that back of his mind, he's still thinking, _just keep to yourself, keep your head down, don't be too affectionate, keep your hands hidden, walk fast, don't make eye contact._

Plus, there’s Rey. Finn and Rey are almost always together and almost together together. Poe can tell that Finn is still very on-the-fence about his relationships at the moment, caught between a rock and a gay place.

Poe sympathizes, really.

So Poe’s “courting” is mostly just a lot of confused gestures in semi-public spaces, a lot of strange flirting and holding of Finn’s arms and hands. Poe feels incredibly juvenile and unprepared every time he puts his fingers in the spaces between Finn’s, clasping their hands together. He ducks his head, feeling suddenly very shy, and wonder how people used to think he was smooth. Maybe he’s out of practice, or maybe he was just always like that and some people just found it endearing.

Not to mention that it’s taxing. Poe has a very limited amount of energy, a standard imposed upon him by anxiety and stress, which is only exacerbated by his medication, which lists drowsiness as a main side effect. He takes a lot of naps,and rarely wakes up before 3 pm. If he goes on a pseudo-date, it sometimes takes him a full day to really feel like himself again, depending on how stressful it is.

But he’s also incredibly giddy. He feels like a person again, somehow. His... _relationship_ with Finn, his friendship with Rey; it makes him feel human. He remembers what it’s like to be loved and to be around people and it turns him into a better version of himself, he likes to think. Sometimes he gets overwhelmed or stressed and snaps at them, but they seem to understand and tend to give him a free pass to bail on any given activity so he can go recharge. Poe hates it, but it’s a part of being who he is.

Finn starts wearing his clothes, too, which REALLY gets Poe’s cogs turning. The first time he catches Finn on his couch with his flight jacket hung over his shoulders for warmth, watching a VHS version of Crocodile Dundee, Poe thinks he might have blown steam out of his ears like a cartoon character.

It was his mother's before it was his. And to see Finn draped in something so personal and so his riles him on an emotional level and he just HAS to flop down on the couch, grinning, and loop his arms around Finn’s shoulders. Finn misses the significance of this completely.

Poe still has that nagging in the back of his head, that insistence that Finn deserves someone better, but now that he has Finn’s express permission to romance him, it quiets very slightly. It allows Poe to just feel happy in Finn’s company.

The roof of Poe’s apartment building is accessible, unfortunately for his landlord. There’s a big tree out back just before the land dips into concrete which dips into a slosh of ugly grey water, and that tree’s thick, twisting branches provide a practical walkway to the roof of the building, just over Poe’s room. Poe used to go up there to smoke alone, but now he brings Finn along.

“The moon is really big,” Finn mutters, lying on his back on the roof. The night air is warm and still, and fish splash up out of the water every once in a while. Across the small body of water there’s a pier, and it’s decorated tonight with bright lights. The neighbors must be having a party.

“Yes, Finn,” Poe says flatly, “the moon, a celestial body, is big,” he snarks, and Finn slaps his belly with an open, gentle hand.

“I mean it’s _full,_ jerk,” Finn says.

“Man, I wish I had got some liquor for this,” Poe sighs. “We could sit up here an’ get drunk. I could fall off the roof and break my leg, and you’d have to sign my cast and pamper me,” he sighs wistfully. “Wouldn’t that just be the bees knees.”

“No, that's...that’s a terrible idea. Don't fall off." Finn replies.

“You know one time I got my arm broke fallin’ out of a tree kinda like this one. Got chased up it by a bull but fell out of one of the top branches. Cried real hard.”

“Jesus,” Finn murmurs. “You got chased by a bull?”

Poe shrugs. “Wasn’t the bulls fault, he was just protecting his herd. I was the one pokin’ around that old pasture with a walking stick and a loud dog.”

“You grew up on a farm?”

“Yeah,” Poe replies. “With my mom and Dad. Dad didn’t speak a word of English, but my mom did. She taught me.”

“Wait,” Finn mutters, propping himself up on his elbows. “English isn’t your first language?.”

“I don’t know if I learned Spanish first or not. More like I learned English and Spanish at the same time, just growin’ up as myself. You speak any other languages?”

Finn snorts. “No. As if I would’ve been allowed to learn. We couldn’t even watch TV.”

“Ill teach you a couple things sometimes,” Poe says. “If you want. Now you get to have all the stuff you couldn't before. I'll make sure.”

“I like hearing about your childhood,” Finn says, a little quietly, like he’s thinking hard and talking mostly to himself, his eyes focused up on the moon.

Poe wonders what it's like to not know what a childhood is like. He gets the feeling that Finn didn’t have one.

“I had a great childhood,” Poe says. “My mom was ex military, and my Dad was...well, he was a cool guy. Kes and Shara.”

“What kind of stuff did you do?”

“I dunno, ate cereal, chased bugs, went to school. Kid stuff. Things were pretty normal until I enlisted, and then that’s really when the shit hit the fan. I got picked on a lot in school,” Poe sighs, “I was in the closet. Real smart but real sad, y’know? Didn’t perform well, didn’t have the grades or the money to get into a good college as a result.”

“So you enlisted for the money?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you regret it?”

Poe closes his eyes and tries to smother the feeling that swells inside of him. “I don’t know. Yes, in some ways, but...I try not to regret things that make me who I am. And it sure as hell changed me. Some guys I knew said it was the best thing they ever did. I never really felt that way.”

It’s quiet for a moment. A soft, warm breeze whispers through the trees and Finn sighs. He turns to look at Poe, somewhat affectionately, and Poe feels nervous under his stare.

“I’m glad you turned out like this,” Finn says. “I like you how you are.”

Poe smiles. “Thanks, buddy. Although life might be easier if I wasn’t so peculiar.”

Then, suddenly, Finn rolls over and throws his arm around Poe, putting his head on Poe’s shoulder. It’s a heavy, warm, pleasant weight. Poe wraps his arm around him.

“What’s up, doc?”

“I just wish I could’ve met you sooner. You and Rey both. I wish I would’ve known you years ago. Forever ago. I wish we could’ve been friends.”

“I dunno,” Poe sighs, “If I’d have met you five years ago, You’d have been...18, which is legal, but morally reprehensible from my point of view, because I would've been twenty seven. Y’know?”

Finn snorts. “You say that like there’s a chance of us hooking up now.”

“You wound me,” Poe whines. “You’re mean, baby.”

“You keep calling me pet names,” Finn muses, “I don’t know if I like it or not.”

“What, would you prefer I didn’t?”

“No, it’s just...I’ve only ever heard them on TV.”

“Well, I like you, so I’m callin’ you baby,” Poe asserts. “You know, there was a time when people would've lined up to hear me call them baby. I was a hot stud back in the day.”

Finn snorts. “You talk like you’re sixty years old. You aren’t even old enough for this mid-life crisis.”

"But _you,_ ” Poe continues, unheeded, “you’re a hot stud _right now._ ”

“Hm,” Finn mutters, “So I’ve been told. By you. Repeatedly.”

“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true,” Poe says. “You know when I first met you I was so freaked out. Cute guy like you, talkin’ to a guy like me? Shit, that hadn’t happened since...that one guy who worked the cash register at wal-mart. But he wasn’t half as cute and I didn’t talk to him. He had a wedding ring on, anyway. Probably thought I was lost.”

Finn props himself up so he’s leaning over Poe, blotting out the moon. “So it’s all about my looks, huh?”

“Hm,” Poe pretends to think. “And maybe about your soul, too, or some garbage like that. Hey, you wanna go inside and kiss on the couch?”

“That was an awfully direct proposition for just ‘courting,’ Poe Dameron.”

“Hey, you gave the green light. I can’t help if I’m a little bit smitten with you,” Poe says and reaches down, heart thudding nervously, and runs a hand down Finn’s lower back and over the warm, thick swell of his ass under rough denim. “Firm,” he remarks, giving a gentle squeeze.

Finn just sighs and leans into him. “Fine, alright. You’ve broken me. Let’s kiss.”

Finn leans down and pushes their lips together. It’s a little awkward at first, only their second kiss ever. But Poe’s heart races because Finn is kissing him and it just feels so nice and intimate and casual. The resonating “Finn wants me,” rattles through his bones and makes him cocky and warm around the edges, weak at the knees. Finn's lips are soft, and the way he kisses is gentle and hesitant and probing.

Finn has a thick thumb on each side of his jaw, no doubt prickled by Poe’s stubble, and Poe has one hand on Finn’s ass and the other on the back of his neck. His skin is warm and soft and Poe’s fingers can feel his hairline, his dense, curly hair.

Finn finally throws his spare leg over Poe’s hips so hes straddling him, and then he sits up, separating their lips with a little pop. The moonlight makes him silver around the edges, and the rest of him is dark and grainy, a bit hard to see.

“I admit,” Finn breathes, “I am wildly attracted to you.”

Poe grins incorrigibly. “Of course you are,” he drawls, “I am WILDLY attractive.”

Then Poe hears a soft little gasp that did not come from Finn.

“You two! Quit mounting each other on the roof!”

Finn splutters and very nearly falls, but Poe catches him, steadying him so that they’re both sitting next to each other, and then looks around.

There’s Rey, in the tree. Poe exhales, relieved.

“Oh my god,” Finn whispers, clearly embarrassed, grabbing Poe’s shirt aggressively.

“Rey, you just about gave me a heart attack,” Poe grouses. “What do you want?”

“Rude. We're friends, don't act happy to see me or anything,” Rey replies. She’s perched in the tree like a monkey, wrapped in a dark sweatshirt and jeans. Her feet, like usual, are in a pair of too-tight converse shoes. She’s wearing a fanny pack.

“Rey, did you see that? All of that?” Finn asks weakly.

“What, you two kissing? Yeah, I saw,” Rey replies, making a face. “But that’s not what I’m here about. Either of you wanna help me steal a car?”

A moment of silence passes.

“Excuse me?” Finn asks.

“Okay, so listen,” she immediately resumes, walking off the tree and onto the roof. Poe watches her, befuddled. “Plutt runs an impound lot, right?”

“Yes, that is a thing that is true,” Finn agrees.

“He’s right, it is,” Poe says.

Poe looks at Finn. If he’s having any sort of internal crisis over being caught with Poe, it’s overwhelmed by car stealing related confusion, which is written all over his pretty face. Poe had hoped he'd be able to keep this under wraps for Finn, at least with Rey. He feels a little bad that they got caught; it's his fault, after all. He didn't want to hurt Finn's chances with her.

Well, he did, but that's kind of in the nature of what he's doing. He doesn't share, he's just not the kind of person who could handle that. But the less selfish, more self aware version of him knew that this was ultimately up to Finn, and had wanted Finn to have a choice. 

“Right. So, Plutt lets me work late, right? And I stumble on this car. And it looks real familiar, you know? Like i saw it in a dream or something.”

“Rey, we can’t steal a car because you saw it in a dream,” Finn accuses, but she shushes him.

“Not done yet, Finn,” she says, firmly. “This car-I KNOW this car. I’d know it anywhere. It’s not just any car. It’s a Ford Falcon Cobra, baby, 1978. And it’s Han Solo’s car.”

Finn’s eyes widen. “Wait, I thought he just had that old van?”

Rey shakes her head. “It was the replacement when the Falcon got stolen. But it ended up in Plutt’s impound lot, Finn, and I swear, Plutt has no idea how much that car is worth. He doesn’t know shit about the crap he’s peddling over there. Plutt is about to auction it off to some collector,” she says, with an extreme level of disdain for the very idea, her nose scrunched up and her mouth a tight line.

Poe whistles. “That’s some car.”

“You have no idea!” Rey squeals. “It’s the sexiest hunk of metal I’ve ever seen, and it WILL be mine. It’s my right, god damn it. If Han still had it and he died, he would’ve left it to me in his will. That’s how I know.”

“How do you know it’s Han’s?” Finn asks. “Couldn't it just be some similar car?

“Nu-uh, baby,” Rey continues. “It’s limited edition and super customized. It’s a bit dinged up, has a few bullet holes, but if you ask me, that adds character to any vessel of transportation,” Rey asserts.

“Why didn’t Han just report it stolen?” Finn asks, then stares at Rey for a second, and then says, “never mind, that was a stupid question.”

“Point is, it’s rightfully Han’s, and when he dies, it’s rightfully mine. So I’m gonna steal it.”

“Rey, That sounds dangerous,” Poe warns.

“Yeah, and I don’t think you normally have to steal things that are rightfully yours,” Finn adds, which isn't a bad point.

“It is NOT, and Finn, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, so convincingly that Poe just nods in agreement.

“So are you two in or what? We just have to sneak in, I can hot wire the car.”

“There’s no way Plutt won’t catch you!” Finn hisses. "And no way he won’t nail you for stealing his stuff!”

“Yeah right,” Rey snorts, “Besides, what better way to quit my job than with a big, thieving bang, huh?”

“I-no, that’s-”

“C’mon, Poe, talk some sense into him!” Rey pleads.

Poe just sighs and rubs his eyes. “I’m too old for this,” he grunts.

“That’s no excuse, you're barely thirty and you can't keep using your age as a way to get out of stuff,” Rey insists, hands on her hips. “Besides,” she smirks, “I happen to know that you rather like cars. And trust me, Poe. This car is one of a kind.”

“You can’t tempt me,” Poe replies.

“You like cars?” Finn asks.

“No, maybe, I don’t know. I like planes more,” Poe grunts. Rey points finger guns at him and he tries really hard to not be charmed by it, but fails. Rey could probably convince anyone to do anything if she were a little less prickly and didn't keep to herself so much.

Finn and Rey bicker about car theft for the better part of what seems like hours, and Poe lies with his head in Finn's lap and just listens to them. It's not so bad. He feels privileged to have friends like them.

After semi-agreeing to a crime, Poe goes to bed. Surprisingly, Finn follows him. Rey doesn’t seem ready for sleep-too busy scheming, too busy rambling about some car Poe has never heard of-and stays up. They leave her on the roof, where she claims she will be sleeping since the moon looks so nice. Poe doesn't really doubt the claim. If she's slept in the back of Han Solo's van, she can probably sleep anywhere.

But Finn follows him back to his room and asks if he can stay over.

Poe trusts himself a bit more these days; he knows he won’t do anything, won’t wake up from some night terror to try to hurt Finn, but the thought still nags at the back of his mind. He hasn’t had dreams like those in a long time. Nightmares happen, but those dreams hadn’t been nightmares; they’d been mashed up bits of reality, congealed and altered by his war torn frontal lobe.

But tonight, he hopes for regular nightmares. Those, one can wake up from.

Finn borrows a pair of his sweatpants and flops down into his bed immediately like he’s been living with Poe for years, and Poe takes a quiet pleasure in Finn’s trust. His trust isn’t particularly hard to earn-in fact, giving it away too quickly might be a fault of his-but Poe is happy to have it. He’s happy and amazed that Finn can still trust people. It doesn't seem like the world has made it easy for him.

He crawls into bed after Finn once the lights are off. All he can hear is the sound of the air conditioner chugging along and Finn’s soft, even inhale and exhale. He puts his hand on Finn's butt and Finn smacks it away with a little laugh. Privately, Poe hopes that Finn will just stay out of Rey's car stealing plans, but doubts it. The two of them are practically attached at the hip, and as much as Poe likes to think that Finn wouldn't steal a car...he doesn't actually think that Finn wouldn't steal a car.

Poe goes to sleep easily that night.

When he wakes, it’s because something is buzzing.

It’s still the middle of the night. Finn is sleeping soundly on his side, illuminated only slightly by the moonlight and the red luminescence from Poe’s bedside alarm clock. But something is buzzing. What is it?

Poe sits up in bed, smacks his lips, looks around the dark room. He can still hear it. What the hell is it? His phone doesn't even vibrate, it can't be his phone. There's no way he can go back to sleep with that noise, though.

Annoyed, he swings both legs over the side of the bed and stumbles around in the dark. Everything feels otherworldly and strange at night, and he has trouble finding his way around until-Oh.

His shin bumps into a chair in his room. He puts his hand out. Denim. Pockets. Buzzing thing in pockets.

"Ugh,” he grunts, blearily, and fishes the buzzing thing out.

It’s Finn’s flip phone. These must be his discarded pants. Of course, they’re folded neatly on a chair in stead of on the floor. Of course they're Finn's. He huffs a short little laugh.

Poe holds it in his hand. It buzzes again.

 _Don't,_ he thinks, _he trusts you._

It's probably just Rey.

_You can’t know that._

He flips its open.

As he suspected, he and Rey are the only contacts in the phone. It’s prepaid, from the looks of things. Thankfully, it's not one of the phones that makes loud noises when you press the buttons, so it won't wake Finn.

“Annoying,” he grumbles.

_Stop. You know what you’re doing is bad._

Unknown number. 3:34 am.

Poe frowns. He opens the text.

**It is too late to report for deprogramming.**

That’s when he hears something break in the kitchen. He looks up to the bedroom door, cellphone in his hand, and feels the sick, sinking feeling of panic. This is a nightmare, right? He’s imagining things.

Then the light in the hallway flicks on. Poe's lungs go dry and empty and his skin erupts in gooseflesh. If he had a weapon, he’d reach for it. But he doesn’t.

He’s unarmed in his underwear int he middle of the night, and someone is in his apartment.

The shadow of two feet appears at the crack beneath the door.

**Author's Note:**

> short first chapter but after this were gonna get into the swing of things.


End file.
